


One Colour - PTSD with Extra Cream

by badlifechoices



Series: Jason Todd Birthday Week 2018 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Gen, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason is scared of the colour green, Lazarus Pit, day three of the jason todd birthday week, death flashbacks but nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 01:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badlifechoices/pseuds/badlifechoices
Summary: He’s safe, Jason tells himself. His hideout is secure, he reminds the nagging voice at the back of his head. Green flashes colour his vision, no matter how hard he tries to blink them away. The Lazarus pit sings in his blood, strums his muscles and veins like a harp.





	One Colour - PTSD with Extra Cream

Green eyes widening as the countdown rings in his ears. They focus on the display across the room, on the numbers ticking down, panic like the blood from his temple dripping into them. Green eyes filling with fear, despair, begging for his saviour to come and rescue him. They blink away tears, paint clear streaks down his dirty cheeks. Green eyes closing, squeezed shut as the realisation settles in, that there’s no one coming to save him. The red numbers die, fall away from the display as the explosion tears through the building. The pain is blinding, hot, encompasses all and then it’s gone. Everything is gone.

And then: Pain, searing through his body, burning him, tearing him away from the beautiful numbness. Where before there was nothing now is everything. Every cell of his body seems to develop a mind of his own, the sensations overflooding his brain. It’s too much, his synapses are on fire. Something is constricting him, wrapped tight around his body. He tries to tear it away, claws at his face to free himself. He screams, and water pours into his mouth, fills his lungs and he knows that he’s drowning. Finally, the constricting cloth is gone from his eyes, and he forces them to open. A poisonous, vibrant green seeps into his field of vision. It surrounds him, drowns out everything else. He gets lost, arms fighting against the water, as he feels his consciousness fade because all he breathes is water. He can’t tell if he’s dead or alive, but he’s certain that if he’s alive it won’t be for much longer…

He shoots up with a gasp, his hands clinging to the sheets, knuckles white from the strain. His lungs heave, desperate to be filled with air as he struggles to figure out where he is. He turns his head, gaze flickering over the interior of the room, trying to find something to go with. The walls are filled with pictures, cut out newspaper articles. They don’t help him find his way out of the confusion. He settles on the digital clock next to his mattress, on the numbers ticking away. They don’t count down, they’re not dooming him to death and he finds solace in the slow progression of time. He counts along to the flickering numbers, counts his breaths until his heart has stopped hammering against his chest.

He’s safe, Jason tells himself. His hideout is secure, he reminds the nagging voice at the back of his head. Green flashes colour his vision, no matter how hard he tries to blink them away. The Lazarus pit sings in his blood, strums his muscles and veins like a harp. Jason wonders how long it will cling to him, if it will ever let him go. He forces himself to fight past the numbness in his limbs and get up from the mattress, drags himself towards the small bathroom. His reflection in the broken mirror stares back at him with sunken eyes, blames him for the sleepless nights. He looks away, can’t stand keeping eye-contact. His hand reaches for the tap, flinching at the sound of the water rushing from the faucet. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply as he tries his best to force the memories into the back of his mind.

It takes him a moment before he can reach out for the water, splashing it on his face to wash away the sweat. The cold feels good on his skin; it reminds him of days spent in the mountains, of training in the snow until his fingers are numb and his mind is clear. He reminds himself to breathe deeply and regularly. He reaches for the water again, splashes his face with it until the tips of his hair are dripping and there is no more green tinting his vision. Another moment, hands gripping the sink tightly. It’s alright. He’s alright.

Jason drags himself back into his improvised living room. With a press of a button the screens of his computer flicker to life, the blue light gently washing over the surfaces in the room. A glance at the window reveals that the sun hasn’t risen yet. Which means he’s gotten about three hours of sleep that night. That’s not even that bad, considering his average probably lies between one and four these days. That is if the nightmares let him get any sleep in the first place. He slumps into his chair, turning his gaze to the main screen. News websites pop up, showing him everything that he missed. It’s just more of the same that he gets to see every time he checks. A couple muggings, a bank robbery here and there, a few car jackings, maybe even a murder. No messages for him directly, not that he was expecting anyone to contact him. Alfred leaves invitations for dinner sometimes, Roy is too busy at the moment to check in and Kory still refuses to use conventional texting methods.

He leans back, scrolling through a few webpages without finding anything that captures his interest. Seems like it’s going to be an easy morning for him. There are a couple seedy bars he’ll have to visit in the evening, just to check up on a couple old “friends”. But for now, he can focus on his headspace. The computer shuts down with a gentle hum. He gives it a moment, not feeling the need to hurry, then he gets up again. The fabric of his favourite red hoodie is gentle on his bare skin, even though he’s had this particular piece of clothing for as long as he can remember. He slips into a pair of worn out jeans, stuffing his wallet and keys into his pockets before he heads out the door. The building is desolate, has been scheduled for demolition a couple months ago but so far no one has paid any attention to it.

The crisp air of the early morning sends goose bumps along his arms and neck, and he finds himself drawing in his shoulders and huddling himself into his hoodie as best as he can. The streets are mostly empty apart from the occasional early morning jogger and an old man with his dog who seems like he could really use a pair of new shoes. It’s not one of the very populated quarters of town so there’s not a lot of cars either. There’s a coffee shop two blocks away that is probably the only business already open at this hour and Jason greatly approves of this. The barista recognises him at this point, greeting him with a friendly wave and a question whether he wants a different order this time. Jason shakes his head in return, falling into his usual seat next to the window. She doesn’t even comment on the ridiculous amount of sugary syrup and extra topping anymore. The coffee is too hot to drink but it warms his hands and he finds that the scent alone spreads calm through his mind.

Outside the large windows, the sky is gradually getting brighter, painting the clouds with shades of pink and red before the first rays of sunlight peek over the tops of the buildings. Out of the corner of his eyes something green is moving and his breath catches in his throat. He turns his head only to find that it’s another customer with a bright green jacket. Ridiculous, he thinks to himself, leaning forward to take a sip of his coffee. He tries to distract himself from his racing heart by focusing on the sweetness of his syrup, eyes straying to the rising sun again. His phone vibrates with a news update about last night’s bank robbery. Jason skims the article, then decides that the cops have this one under control.

A calm morning, he figures, as he turns off his phone completely and waves at the barista. “Could I get some more whipped cream for this? While you’re at it, I’ll take one of those chocolate chip cookies too.” He doesn’t quite manage a smile but it’s good enough to convince the barista to renew the toppings on his coffee. Sure, it’s not healthy to live off sugary things alone but sometimes a vigilante just needs to treat himself, Jason thinks to himself, as he scoops the cream into his mouth. Maybe one of his favourite things about this coffee shop is that there’s nothing green about the interior design. Or maybe it’s the people who don’t judge him for his sweet tooth.


End file.
